


Damned

by trash-and-loving-it (HaleyProtega282)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester First Time Having Sex, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Post-Episode: s02e22 All Hell Breaks Loose, Post-Season/Series 02, Wincest - Freeform, fuck insomnia in the ear, no betas we die like men, slightly OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26832226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaleyProtega282/pseuds/trash-and-loving-it
Summary: Dean was not staring. He wasn't. (Except he totally was and Sam noticed.)Tags say it all, folks. *salutes and falls asleep finally*
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 186





	Damned

Dean was not staring. He wasn't, really. It was just difficult not to appreciate how good it was to have Sam back in the land of the living. So what if his eyes lingered a little longer when he looked his way? After what they'd been through, it was perfectly understandable.

And with all the work they had to do trying to hunt down the demons that got through Hell's Gate, it wasn't like Sam was going to notice. The not-staring, that is.

When they weren't fixing the hellspawn spillover, Dean was doing his best to cram as much junk food and hook-ups into his final year, but he couldn't avoid the realization that those weren't the things that really made him happy. He could have gone a few more decades like that, and yet he chose to trade the rest of his life (and afterlife) for just one more year that mattered.

It hadn't really hit Dean, until those few horrible hours, how much his life revolved around Sam. What was he supposed to do without him? And if it was a bit unhealthy and codependent, well - their lives were never the epitome of normal. The incident with the jinn emphasized that pretty hard.

So yeah, Dean found himself noticing the little details he used to take for granted. Like those dimples when Sam smiled. That concentrated look he'd get when he was reading. The way he'd run his hand over his face when he was getting tired. The few strands of hair always falling into his eyes. Really, it was nothing, just a few things. Mostly the dimples.

It was the nights that hit hardest. When Sam would lay there still, too reminiscent of the worst day of Dean's life; he just had to keep making sure his chest was still rising and falling. That there was still color in his cheeks, and not deathly pallor. That Sammy was still here, with him.

So there Dean was, sitting in his chair and definitely not staring, when Sam's eyes fluttered open and landed right on him. "Dude, what?", he mumbled, "why are you keeping vigil instead of getting some shut-eye?"

"Just waiting to see how long before you realize you're drooling up the pillow", Dean chuckled faux-casually as he got up to get a beer, just to have something to distract him. Sam brought his hand to his face reflexively, finding no drool and settling on that familiar bitchface that Dean now had to add to that ever-growing list of little things.

"Dean", Sam said seriously, his face set in a way that meant he was going to get all chick-flicky. He got up and headed Dean off. "You know I hate that you made that deal."

"Wow, really? This is shocking news, kiddo.", Dean tried, even though he was getting increasingly sure he can't laugh away the conversation.

"But..." Sam hesitated. "I know why you did. And... You have no idea how much it means to me that you care so much that you would." He was standing there looking at the floor while he said it, talking faster as he went on. "And, well, Dean, I want you to know something." The floor was getting more eye-contact than it probably ever did, and Dean wondered if it was gonna start blushing soon. Wouldn't be the weirdest thing he'd seen - not even in the top ten.

"I always thought you'd hate me if I told you", Sam went on quietly, "and, maybe you wouldn't have sold your soul if - "

"Hey", Dean cut him off, lifting Sam's chin to look into his eyes. "I could never hate you." He couldn't be more certain of anything in his life. Not when he was staring at those hazel irises that were his whole world. And somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he'd been heading for Hell anyway. Not that he was ever letting that train of thought get anywhere.

"Dean...", Sam trailed off, licking his lips nervously, and suddenly Dean was having trouble keeping that damned thought at bay. In the second it took him to mentally kick himself, Sam stepped closer, close enough for their breaths to mingle. He paused for a moment, giving Dean a chance to back off, and as much as he knew he should, Dean couldn't. He made the deal because he was too selfish to live without Sam, and now he was too selfish to step away, to stop when Sam's mouth found his, licking and nipping at his lips.

It was like an avalanche that couldn't be stopped but only escalate. Dean melted into it, his hands burying themselves in Sam's hair of their own accord. His thoughts dissolved like smoke as Sam unbuttoned his shirt, the skin-on-skin contact sending off sparks all over him.

As if in a trance, he felt himself walking back into the bed and falling, Sam mouthing at his neck - and if that wasn't the best thing ever. Dean's brain had apparently moved to his hands, because they definitely had a mind of their own now, snaking under Sam's shirt and trying to pull him impossibly closer.

Sam fumbled with Dean's zipper, simultaneously kissing down his chest, until Dean mustered enough coherence to flip them over, shaking his head slightly. He undid Sam's pants and pulled down his boxers, swallowing him down without preamble. He was rewarded with his new favorite sound in the world, Sam's hands fisting the sheets as he panted. Dean hollowed his cheeks, running his hands up and down Sam's sides as he started to bob his head.

Sam didn't last long, but there was going to be time to draw it out later. They had a whole year left. A year that probably wouldn't have happened otherwise. And when Sam pulled him into a bruising kiss, never breaking it as he gave him a hand job, Dean figured not one soul in Hell was as glad to be damned as he was.


End file.
